Pokemon: Zetsumetsu (1)
by Sean.D.Rice.17
Summary: Chaos unfolds in a quiet Michigan county as Pokemon appear in the real world. But not all of them are normal... Pokemon were only thought of in video games and fairy tales. Michael assumed that too, until a car accident, much like the one from when he was a child, changes his point of view on everything he once believed in.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Michael Lawson

Day 1

Tree, after tree, car after car, sign after sign.

Michael was staring out of a freshly cleaned car window, his head literally throbbing from Midterms to be thinking about much, other than how tough it was. He sat in the passenger seat in silence, anxiously waiting for his adult sister to say what she had to say. If that meant another weekend of her ranting, so be it. He was on summer vacation now.

"We both know you can do better," she breathed out audibly, though not quite a sigh. "It's certainly an improvement, nonetheless."

Michael turned to look at his sister, Lauren, who was still staring at the one-way road while she spoke. She was thinking about her little brother's final report card of the year, which came to a 2.60 GPA.

Michael turned his head back to face the car window closest to him, then spoke in an innocent tone.

"I did my best, really…" he replied with a voice crack. It did that a little too often.

Michael's iPhone vibrated in his left pocket. After looking at Lauren briefly, he took it out to see what the buzz came from. His friend Leon had sent him a message.

Leon: michael try to NOT get your ass whooped in Smite today

Leon left a wink emote on another message, nettling him.

"Stupid forecasters… They said all week was gonna be sunny..." Lauren noted out of the blue. She swept some of her dirty blonde hair out of her face.

Michael looked up into the sky in front of him. Dark, low lying clouds were rolled in, in a matter of a minute.

"Yeah, well, small mistakes, big payments," Michael recited his favorite quote with a small grin, fixated on the sky. It quickly grew dark, almost like it came out of some sort of nightmare.

Many seconds of uneasy silence followed. The only thing Michael could hear was the sounds the car was making, that mostly being the noisy Ford Fusion engine. Lauren retained her focus on the road.

"Woah!" She exclaimed. Something that looked like a car had sped past them on their left side, drove in front of their car, then hit the breaks. Lauren was fast to react, however, and steered to the right to avoid the rogue driver.

Michael's mind, triggered by the incident, sent him back over a decade ago. He was in his parents' car, which was going down a dirt road he had never seen before. He heard bits of his parents' conversation. They were talking about him, he knew, but he only caught a little bit of what they were saying. 

"...to protect Michael. No matter the cost."

Then he saw the front of the car ripped off. He heard screams. He knew they belonged to his parents. Michael never saw them alive again. The only person who believed what he saw was his sister.

Michael's mind was sent back to the present, tears running down his face and silently crying like a child. He couldn't stand seeing anything close to a car crash. It didn't matter if it was on television or in real life. It always sent him back to the day his parents died. Over Lauren's excessive cursing, Michael heard cars behind them crash.

Michael and Lauren both yelped as the windshield suddenly exploded into a mess of sharp glass. Michael caught a flash purple before he was thrust into an airbag. Dull pain started from the back of his head. He was knocked out. There was darkness, accompanied by complete silence. It all happened too quick.

Unable to do anything but stare into the pitch black darkness, Michael became more scared by the second.

A room slowly faded into view before his eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, daddy!"

He saw a faint memory of himself, about the same age he was when his parents' tragic death occurred.

He was in a preschool office with his father and a woman that Michael couldn't remember. He was crying because he just heard the teacher say that he is no longer allowed here.

"That boy is real trouble," the woman says as she steps out into the hallway, putting a cell phone up to her ear.

Michael's father bent down to his visual level, though his face was barely visible, except for his calm smile that Michael saw through his own tears. It calmed him slightly just to see his dad smile.

"I know it wasn't your fault. I'm gonna fix all of this," his father said.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Day 2

His memory faded; Michael felt himself waking up. He tried to rub his eyes, but couldn't. After blinking them open a few times, he finally managed to keep them open. The rectangular room, which had two other beds, one on each side of Michael, was generally large. Each bed had a few instruments beside it, things that doctors would use on hospital patients, though Michael didn't know enough about medical stuff to identify them. A single, mahogany wood door almost popped out against the cream colored wall at the far side of the room. A small TV was centered between the three beds, and was turned off. Though covered by his sweatshirt and jeans he could feel that his wrists and ankles were strapped down.

Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, traveled down his chin, reaching his neck before evaporating suddenly, feeling seconds of refreshing coolness before feeling slightly warm.

The light… Michael thought as he began to stare at the almost blinding florescent lights that dotted the ceiling. It feels like it's, burning me… He felt like running and hiding in the darkest place in the world.

It felt like hours passed by the time the door to the room opened.

"Good morning," a slightly-low pitched voice spoke as its owner came walking into the room. He looked like he was in his late fifties. His gray hairs and receding hairline suggested he was older than that. He cleared his throat then said: "How... do you feel?"

Michael sensed no emotion in the man's question, like he was used to asking everyone that.

"Fine," he lied. Michael felt far from it, but was trying to stay calm.

"I am Dr. Stafford." the man said. It almost sounded forced. So much for the bedside manner. Michael swore the doctor was on a verge of ending that sentence with a long old man sigh. The doctor had his focus on the clipboard in his hands, flipping through documents, and hardly spared a glance at Michael.

Suddenly thinking of Lauren, Michael spoke out of the blue.

"My sister," he said, almost shakingly, out of both fear and anger. "Lauren, where is she?"

Michael realized that his voice had changed; it sounded deeper, like he had aged really fast in a short time. But why he was angry all of a sudden? Michael was confused on where all his anger was coming from. He felt himself getting very warm now, and his vision blurred for a second.

Doctor Stafford had a face that said, "I really wish I weren't here right now." But Michael felt there was more to it than that. He sensed fear. Like he was actually thinking "Holy shit if he suddenly broke those ties..." in his head. Stafford was scared of him.  
>Since when could Michael sense fear like that?<p>

"Your sister," Stafford said. "is all right. She suffered no major injuries from the accident, and was released within half an hour. You, on the other hand…" He paused for a moment. "Well, you've probably figured out why you're still here." He smiled in an attempt to show that he was trying to be polite. It didn't help. But Michael was relieved to know that Lauren was okay. He just hoped that she knew he was okay as well.

"You didn't sustain any injuries at all," Stafford continued. "Which is surprising, based off of how much damage the right side of the car took…"

"So, uh, when do I leave?" Michael cut in.  
>Dr. Stafford did not answer.<p>

"You said I was fine. But why can't I leave?" Michael asked.

Stafford just shook his head. "I'll be nice and won't sugarcoat it for you. You're a threat to the world…" He flipped through his clipboard, apparently finding what he was looking for. He showed the page to Michael. He couldn't believe what he was looking at.

The picture looked somewhat low-res, giving away that is was an ametur photo. In the photo was a completely wrecked car. It was Lauren's Ford Fusion, Michael could tell. Someone was on the ground on the right side of the Fusion. Sprawled, the person had black fur all over their body, except for parts of their limbs; golden ovals showed amidst the black fur. The person's mouth hung open, revealing two pairs of fangs, one on the upper jaw and the other on the lower jaw. What really stuck out to Michael, however, were the ears. Where human ears should have been were long, pointed ears, each with a golden ring that went around them.

"No, that isn't me," Michael said shakingly. He was avoiding the fact that he somehow knew that this was him; he knew that was what this doctor was implying. "Nice photoshop skills, though. Please, let me leave now." 

Stafford heard a slight change in Michael's voice when he finished his sentence. He also noticed that Michael's whole body was intensifying.  
>Stafford was afraid this would happen. <p>

He pulled out an advanced looking cell phone. He tapped a few buttons, put the phone to his ear, and turned around.  
>"Is it ready?" Stafford tried to whisper, yet Michael could hear him anyway. <p>

Stafford was becoming more afraid of Michael by the second, half expecting him to slink right out of his ties and snuff Stafford's life. But he had to keep his cool. Or else Michael will realize what they're going to do to him and kill everyone here. Upon hearing his colleague's reply, Stafford went to leave the room. But when he tried the door, it was locked. 

Mumbling angrily, Stafford pulled out a ring of keys, leaving his clipboard on the table beside Michael's bed. Michael silently struggled to break free.  
>Stafford found the right key and opened the translucent windowed door to leave the room; locking it behind him. The moment the door clicked, Michael budged his left wrist upward in an attempt to break the tie. He did it on his first try. Same with the other wrist as well. After untying his ankles, Michael slid off the bed and landed on the floor feet first. He picked up the clipboard off the table and rummaged through some of the papers.<p>

One page caught his attention, having a picture of a giant piston looking machine in a badly lit room. Among the many other sketches and scribbles on the page, "Extinction" was written in bold letters near the top. To Michael, none of what he was looking at mattered. He knew he just had to get the hell out of there.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Michael heard voices coming from nowhere. A dull headache formed, from the front of his head this time. Michael stopped rummaging through the papers on Stafford's clipboard. Though puzzled, he tried to focus on what they were saying.

"Okay, this should sedate him long enough for us to run more tests, and then we can..." A German accented voice.

But why can I... Michael trailed off his thought. He heard Stafford's voice.

"We have to tell Michael the truth. We owe him at least that." Stafford's voice.

"Why?" The German voice replied. "He'll be dead either way."

"He should know what is really going on so he'll cooperate. If he doesn't, well, who knows what might actually happen?

A long moment of silence followed. Then the doorknob turned.

Michael acted quickly. He hit the lights and slid to hide under the bed.

Stafford unlocked the door and opened it to find the room empty, with the lights off. Stafford's colleague stepped into the room.

"Nein! He's gone?!" he said, slowly turning around 360 degrees, looking around as he did it.

Stafford was just standing there. He was recalling the time he was in his office, which was nothing more than a small room with an astonishing supercomputer, which was mysteriously calculating something not even he could fathom, but instead, he looking through the progress his team had made that day.

A picture was on the screen. It was taken in the Mammoth Caves in Kentucky; a whole new system of caves that was just recently discovered. On the wall which the picture displayed showed little symbols, hieroglyphs of some sort. The people who found this sent this in as soon as they recognized the creatures represented in those hieroglyphs. Pokemon, one of the cave managers had said, they resembled Pokemon, which were only thought of as mythical creatures from children's fairy tales. And that wasn't the only thing that showed up in the hieroglyphs. They showed humans, normal human beings turning into Pokemon themselves and fighting off evil Pokémon, which were depicted with an unmistakable dark aura surrounding them. Stafford remembered one Pokemon in particular. Umbreon, master of its own darkness and stealth, its appearance striking out amidst the hieroglyphs.

He was pulled back into reality when he noticed that Michael jumped from under the bed he was originally in and began to attack the poor german man, his hands around his throat in what was sure to be a vice-like grip. Stafford wanted to stop him and save the man's life, but he lived his own in cowardice. He just stood there, horrified, as Michael slowly and painfully drained the life out of his victim. The german man stopped struggling eventually, and his eyes were glazed over, sent to the infinitely dark abyss of death.

Stafford took a syringe from his pocket and put it in his hand. Shocking both Michael and himself, he lunged forward, but he was, obviously, no match for Michael's speed. 

As he dodged a single swing from Stafford, Michael broke out into a sprint and knocked him aside. Animal-like instincts- his struggle against death, perhaps- took over his otherwise calm and collective mind. His vision was tinted red. Stafford shouted something, but he sounded very far away. He ran down the hallway, passing by many closed doors.

Just run, run, get away from here, he thought.

As he made a left turn, Michael skidded to a hault. He looked at the black fur on his hands which, however clean, were now permanently stained with the act of murder. His vision blurred in sync with his thumping heart.

What have I done… Michael thought as he tried to regain control over himself. The dark areas of the hallway slowly crept towards him, almost as if the shadows themselves were alive.

Michael heard a gun fire quietly out of nowhere. The bullet hit the wall right beside him. Horrible pain shot up from his left leg. Michael looked up, towards the direction from which the bullet came from.

A rather skinny, dark-skinned man, apparently a security guard of the sorts, appeared at the other end of the hallway, which led into a larger area. With a completely neutral, lifeless expression on his face, he held a handgun in front of him. A moment later, he fired 3 more shots. The gun's silenced barrel spewed bullets unseen and unheard, the only sound that Michael heard were the bullets making impact with the floor and walls around him.

Michael ran and knocked down the guard, ignoring the fire of pain in his leg. He made a run for the big room.

It was a complete mess. Papers and folders were thrown everywhere. Chairs were overturned.

Something was peering around the corner, as if it was waiting for Michael to notice it. It was a purple feline creature, small and bipedal. Its fur was mussed and a pale grey color with the exception of its cream-rimmed ears and its paws, which had short cream socks. It had wide, annular lilac eyes with darker purple pupils. Its open mouth showed two pointed teeth on its upper jaw. Michael didn't have much time before he was thrown back to a wall by an unknown force. Laughter filled the air. He felt blood trickling down from the back of his head, and tasted it in his mouth as well.

You might as well give up. Even with your power, I am unstoppable.

Michael kept his gaze to the floor, dumbfounded.

What did he just hear? Another voice in his head? And what in the world just threw him to the wall?

The words rang in Michael's head like a cold knife whooshing through air. It could read his thoughts. He stood up, his head facing down. Michael felt fatigued for some reason. A pang of something that felt like guilt overran him for a split second.

After all, I can't have you interfere. The future is written, and this is its course.

What did this creature mean? Another unseen force nudged Michael backward slightly. Questions filled his mind, but he pushed them out, anger dominating reason.

I'll show you course, Michael rigorously thought in his head. The gold fur on his arms glowed as he ran forward. He was fruitlessly pushed back by the same invisible force. His mind seemed to suddenly notice the pain from being slammed into a concrete wall. Michael felt weak and kneeled.

While looking down, Michael felt the creature staring at him.

"W-what, the hell..." He said, wincing from the pain. "...do you mean?"

Though small and rather cute, it's menacing eyes would be one thing that Michael would never forget. It spoke out loud this time.

"You'll find out in due time, every human on earth will.

"It would do you good to not interfere. It's too late for it to be helped already." With that said, the enigmatic creature vanished, nothing but a little black mist left behind to heed evidence of its existence.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

What is someone supposed to feel after going through a morning like the one Michael just experienced? Countless emotions swirled about in his head, though no headache came.

Stafford approached Michael as he was just limping towards the exit, appearing otherwise unscathed and indifferent about what he had just done. He felt almost sympathetic for Michael; he knew enough about him already to know that he was certainly not operating under a sane mind, though he wasn't insane, either.

"Wait a minute, Michael." He said to him.

"What do you want from me?" He replied to Stafford without turning around. He didn't care that he still looked like a mutant created in a laboratory experiment, and he didn't care what words came out of his mouth. Hell, he cared about pretty much nothing, only not wanting to get involved in this whole ordeal any more than he already had. He had seen enough modern pop culture movies to know where this was leading. And his sister probably missed him. Sure they had their quarrels, but ultimately, they only had each other to look after, once their parents died. The Lawsons' extended family is a complete mystery, as to where they are now, as well as who. All in all, he knew she missed him, and he missed her just as much. "First you had me strapped to a bed like I belonged in a mental ward, then you send a fuzzy purple ball to tell me the future is written?"

The doctor hesitated, and scrunched his nose a bit from a tickle. He took a deep breath and hoped he could get the point across.

"We brought you here, originally because we needed something from you. We needed your DNA. I'm a genetic scientist for an organization that's dedicated to the study of strange human mutations, both physical and mental. What the people we study, who volunteered, of course, have in common is that these mutations don't harm them, not one bit, but instead they improve their quality of life. The same chromosome pairs are affected in each patient; mostly being the 13th pair. But you…" He trailed off, but came back. "All of your chromosomes are affected, every single one of them mutated, with a perfect genetic code, that is, you didn't develop a third arm or contract any genetic diseases." He paused, perhaps to let Michael soak up what he told him.

Michael was lost after Stafford said the word "chromosome". He figured that he fell to Staffords somewhat digressive and vague persona, which reminded him of himself slightly. But at least the guy wasn't keeping him in the dark any longer. He used the term "dark" lightly.

"...and, you can change your cells. Into, that," Stafford put both arms in front him, as if presenting Michael for some sort of contest. Both of them had forgotten that Michael was well on his way to get out of there before Stafford stopped him.

"What exactly is this? What I am right now, I mean," Michael asked stafford, eager to get as much out of him as possible.

Stafford cracked a small smile and handed him his phone. "Look up 'Umbreon' when you get the chance. The internet has all sorts of articles and stories about it and many others, most of which I think you'd find interesting, given our current situation."

"Others? And what do you mean by our?" Michael inquired of Stafford; more questions were filling his mind as they were answered.

"You want to take on a supernatural force by yourself, Michael? You're fourteen. What do you expect to do?" Stafford replied.

"I've got something that you don't have," Michael retorted. "And that's the ability to get involved as least as possible."

Stafford was taken aback, as if he expected Michael to pitch in and help "take out the bad guy(s)". "But..."

"But what? The world will end? Will all humans be enslaved or killed?"

To Michael's surprise, Dr. Stafford nodded nervously. "Most likely…"

Michael laughed. "You really want to mess around with me, don't you? Whatever I have must be really important to you."

"Well, I suppose there's that, and the government threatening to get involved if you don't cooperate..." Stafford said not matter-of-factly, but in a rather saddening tone, as if he actually cared about what happened to Michael after they took this strange... power out of him.

Yes, dude. Power. Welcome to the set of the next blockbuster superhero movie, Michael thought. He sighed.

"What I was ordered to do was extract your DNA and then "eliminate the threat". They've had an eye on your past… expulsions, see, along with that gift of yours."

Michael frowned. He almost forgot that he had been expelled from multiple schools.

"But, it appears you killed my boss." Stafford said, in a completely nonchalant tone. "What a shame…"

"I, uh, I'm… sorry…" Michael trailed off. He was pretty sure saying "sorry" doesn't help anyone at all, especially when it came to committing a federal crime. All of that anger, boiling up inside of him after hard-earned years of keeping it under control, all let out in a short lust for blood. He felt woozy, and almost fell over. After examining himself, he noticed he was human again. Stafford stood in front of him, mesmerized.

"Interesting…" Stafford said like was watching cells divide for the first time. "I'm afraid we'll keep all thats happened today a secret between the two of us."

"What?"

"My boss was a corrupt man… He feared what he didn't know. And people want to get rid of what they fear. I feel that I take an interest in what I don't know, something that has helped lead me to the job I have now.

"With him gone, I'm left to run the show, you see. And if you don't want to help, I'm not the man to make you. I'm not exactly sure if this is illegal," Stafford chuckled. "But I'll come with a reason for his death. Heart attack, or something. You need some help with that leg of yours?"

"I think the bullet went right through; it feels fine now." Michael replied.

"You were shot in the leg, Michael. You can't possibly be..."

Michael walked around a bit, suddenly no longer limping. "See? I think I'll be going now. Thanks for uh, not killing me, and uh, y'know, letting a murder slip." He said rather awkwardly. He didn't look behind him as the building's automatic doors opened to bid him goodbye.

Stafford scratched his nose. He knew Michael would come back. He hoped, at least, before he was taken back though worse means.

Now to find a way home, Michael thought.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**(A/N Yes, I'm still here. My writer's block turned into a long hiatus. You could say I let it get out of hand. I can't really promise monthly chapters until June, when school gets out. Just keep in mind that I'm not letting this go unfinished. Enjoy, and as always, comments and votes are highly appreciated.)**

It was a slightly windy Summer afternoon. Leon was being a daredevil, as usual, and Michael watched and sometimes laughed at his major failures. Parkour, climbing, animal interaction, trampoline tricks. You name it, Leon does it.

"See that tree?" Leon says, pointing to the thick one in Michael's shallow backyard, which was only ever mowed and had grass that reached up to his waist.

"Yeah, what about it?" Michael replies blithely.

"I'ma climb it," Leon states flatly. Michael throws him a concerning look.

"No, really, I feel I could do it."

"I'm not so sure that's a great idea. That tree is older than Mr. Panther; its got some pretty sharp edges to it."

"Mr. Panther? That cranky old guy that lives in the lower part of the neighborhood?"

Michael nods, and states, "But, based on your current percentage of daredevil tricks failed since Spring started, your chances of reaching the top and getting the "Relic" are approximately..."

Leon breaks out into a sarcastic laughter. "Don't get so technical with me, Michael. This isn't AP Calc."

Michael always seemed to get that weird around Leon. He has been his closest friend since he transferred to that small town school in Howell.

"Remember when you tried to steal your childhood boomerang from Mr. Panther? His dog bit you hard. Those 3 stitches weren't worth it."

"Oh sure, but the rabies shot was."

"Why was it given through your butt again...?"

"Like I said, I don't talk about that part." Leon grows impatient. "You gonna catch me if I fall or what?"

Totally milking his praise for being so strong, Michael nods. "Don't expect not to be cut by those sharp branch stubs, either."

"Always so worried about what _won't_ happen. You remind me of your sister." Leon emphasizes as he approaches the tree, and attempts to shake it. "Any other way to get that thing down?"

"If you wanna break it, then I've got those air soft guns in the garage." Michael replies sarcastically.

Near the top of the long-dead tree, a black, rectangular object sticks out of one of those little holes portrayed as homes for squirrels and other small critters of the like on TV. It has a gray tint, as if it has been there for a long time. Michael and Leon were always curious to see it up close and, apparently to Leon, it was worth the danger of climbing the old tree with the possibility of getting cut by the razor sharp branches, which probably wouldn't even support his weight. Michael wished Leon had listened to him for once.

Before Leon got it down, Michael had always felt a strange lust for the strange object. Of course, it didn't drive him to risk getting badly injured (climbing the tree without help, for example), but he strangely felt satisfied knowing he was going to get an up close look at it.

Leon grabs the object and completely removes it from its abode. "Alright, got it-"

The momentum of pulling the rectangular object out was just enough to send Leon flying down from the tall tree.

"SHIT!" Leon cries at a volume Michael previously thought was not possible. All the branches Leon collides with during his fall snap in sync with Leon's full-sounding grunts and cries, sickeningly. Leon lands on the ground without making another sound. Michael runs up to Leon, freaked out.

"Leon!" Michael yells,. He turns Leon's body to face the front of his body towards the sky. It does not look pretty, that's for sure.

Leon clutches the object in his left hand, though releases it soon after. "Heh, I'll be okay. T-totally worth it." He tries to reassure Michael. It doesn't work.

Straining his voice from the volume as soon as he started speaking, Michael retorts worriedly: "W-worth it?! You're bleeding out!"

His sister, Lauren, is out shopping with her friend from out of town, Lexi, plus her little sister, Celeste, who was the same age as Michael. At that point in time, that's thirteen. There's no home phone in the house, and Michael didn't have his phone yet, nor did Leon, who was twelve. On top of all that, almost all of the neighborhood was on Summer vacation.

Grief wells up in Michael. He feels tears welling up around his eyes, and lets them fall. Not for the first time, he feels helpless. There was nothing he could do to change what was happening. A miserable feeling starts in his heart, and spreads to the very bottom of his soul. His lungs push out involuntary weeps as Leon's voice grows softer, eventually silent. A voice rings from somewhere in Michael's mind:

"_You weren't able to save him. You're weak. Pathetic. A worthless excuse for a friend! You could've done so much more, but alas, you couldn't. When it goes your way, it is rewritten. Soon your whole life will fade away in the lost thoughts of the universe. They will all be rewritten to tell about your failures! How can you make a difference if you're not ready to make the sacrifices? You're a lost cause. End yourself before you hurt everyone else!_"

Michael couldn't see a thing, only listen to the darkness of his mind feed off of his own grief. He was dumbfounded, choking just to speak a single word: "That... Wasn't... How... It... HAPPENED!" He yelled at the top of his lungs. He swore his ears almost gave out, it sounded so loud to him.

He suddenly came to, lying down. It was reality for sure. He was lying in his own bed, in his own room. Had all that had happened been a dream? Though the brilliant light from the sun was emitting from the only window in his room, which was beside his bed, Michael rolled over to grab his iPhone from its charging station on a nightstand, confirming the time. 7:15AM; Sunday, June 6, it read. He rubbed his face with his hands, and pulled his black and yellow patterned blanket off of him.

He ran some water through his hands with the sink in the bathroom closest to his bedroom and rubbed his face thoroughly. The cool liquid felt considerably more refreshing than usual. After looking at his face in the mirror, he stated to himself awkwardly: "Welp. That was no dream."

**(A/N So far the only negative thing that I know is sticking out a bit is my lack of emotion. But where do you think my writing stands in terms of that? Leave a comment if you have any thoughts, good or bad. May the 4th be with you all ;D)**


	6. Chapter 6

Day 3

There was really no actual reason to be concerned. He had learned that this curious, unknown power... Really had done no harm against Michael. If anything, it could help him, one way or another.

So why did he feel like killing a man was a good idea? He wondered if Lauren knew, not even considering anyone else. Right now, he was alone, able to marvel at how this new face looked. His spots of golden fur shined a bit as his hands went over them, making Michael shiver a bit. From what he could tell, now he needed those to keep shining no matter what he looked like if he wanted to retain his extra energy. But what did he know about all of this? About any of this? There were a lot of questions, and none of them had answers.

After glancing at his own eyes in the mirror, Michael smirked, something which he only ever did. Others would always say how vague his persona was. No, neutral would be a better word, for the lack of any other. "It could look a lot worse."

As he spoke, a cold sensation ran down his spine. What now? Michael spun around. Nothing was there. He felt alone. Perhaps this is the part where he starts going nuts. "Lauren?" He shouted. "Lauren, you home?"

Rain softy collided with the roof of the house. A sudden clap of thunder without any lightning strobing in the distance brought an apprehensive atmosphere upon Michael. He was drained of all warmth; though he was cold, he experienced an ominous combination of comfort and fearfulness while he remained in the bathroom inasmuch as finally being in a place without being blinded by bright lights. The memories of the lab/ward came back to him, along with Stafford and the german man. Being there right now is all that he would need to fulfill a great horror setting.

BOOM! BOOM! Two insanely loud explosions of pure thunder so loud it shook the whole house. Rain was coming down so hard Michael counted it as a measureable earthquake. This wasn't a normal storm, not even close. He recalled what Dr. Stafford said back who-knows-when:

"_...all sorts of articles and stories about it and many others, most of which I think you'd find interesting, given our current situation._"

Many others... What the hell did he mean by the current situation? Like those creatures have been here longer than when the first one was spotted, which led to Stafford managing some covert op to destroy them? He had overwhelmed himself with questions once more.

The roaring laugh that emitted from somewhere downstairs didn't help.

Michael froze (disregarding how immobile he already was) and strained his ears to listen the best he could. He heard nothing more. Eerily enough, the rumbling on the roof had begun to let up, and the rain stopped. The sky must've remained cloudy, because the bathroom didn't get any more light.

It was silent as silent can get. When Michael realized how quiet it really was, it sent the hairs of the back of his neck up so straight they might as well have popped off and ran away. It was now so quiet, that the only thing he could hear was the muffled sound of even fainter footsteps; not growing or shrinking in volume either, just... static.

Another magnificent explosion of thunder shook the world around Michael. It was unexpected out of the silence as dark as night itself. Michael yelped what felt like right before the otherwise undetected explosion, still without lightning.

_No, wait..._

BOOM!

_That can't be thunder. It's not rumbling after nearly enough._

That just about did him in. His heart was doing somersaults in chest in a struggle to keep up with his excited, yet fearful body. He felt the need to uncover the truth of the full magnitude of what Stafford explained.

Just minutes after waking up was enough time for random explosions to start happening and a man laughing, supposedly at Michael's own phobia of being scared. Pathetic is an accurate word he would use. He fled from his bathroom. In his own room once more, Michael went through his clothes and found the smooth, black-colored relic. After carefully placing it in the palm of his right hand, he walked slowly past his parents' old bedroom, which was now Lauren's, the guest room, and down the single flight of stairs to the ground floor. "Lauren! ...Lauren! Who's down here...?"

Another cold sensation ran through him, this time engulfing his arms and entire torso before ending in his central back. He froze again, like a deer in shining headlights from a car in the middle of the night. He perked his ears the best he could.

Nothing. Not a sound. The booming had long stopped by then. The sky was still supposedly dimly lit with dark clouds, because there was no sign of the gloomy light letting up. The sun must've already been setting on the west horizon-

Something moved out of the corner of his eye. Whatever it was it had moved along the floor. Definitely NOT Lauren.

_Nope! Nope! No thank you!_ His mind was on autopilot. _Time to get moving!_

Michael ended up in the living room. It also served as the landing for the stairway that ran up an enclosed hallway, giving off a humble, small-space sort of feeling. Good thing none of the Lawsons were claustrophobic. This house was a blessing in helping Michael's sleep patterns; open spaces didn't go well with him. He liked dark, enclosed spaces... As long as there was sound. He hated complete silence.

He was a strange one, Michael told himself. As an attempt to calm himself down, well, it didn't do much.

He stole a glance out of the undrawn window. His casted shadow was unusually long. The other houses west of his- the side he was observing the neighborhood from- had only a couple of lights on here and there. It probably wasn't dark enough for any more than one room being lit in a given home. People were minding their own business; certainly not giving the recent weather even a bat of an eye.

Michael's voyeurism was soon dismissed with yet another cold sensation, this time he was almost freezing.

"W-w-who the h-hell is there?! Answer dammit!" Michael shouted out of frustration. Screw his fear. He was just angry now. He wished he had stayed in his room.

His shadow disappeared. It wasn't instant; it was almost like it quickly evaporated. Whatever heat existed in his body was now gone.

Someone spoke softly behind him. They uttered enough for a flustered Michael to consider it a jumpscare. They simply said: "Boo."

If people's hearts actually stopped for a moment at a time like this, Michael was sure that there wouldn't have been the embarrassingly feeble flurry of punches that were delivered in the direction of the voice. Instead, he'd be dead since people can't actually survive without a single heartbeat. But this wasn't the time to be literal. It never was the time.

So, instead, he was punching the air like an idiot. The voice spoke once more.

"Woah, save yourself the trouble! If I wanted to fight yeh I would've done it by now. Not like those punches are doing anything to a Ghost type like me, boy. Teh-heh."

Stopping and stepping backwards, Michael observed his pursuer with an open jaw. For sure, this creature was unworldly, just like the fuzzy purple thing that proclaimed a written future. This one was dark purple and bipedal, though it bore no fur. With a large, roundish body, it's a surprise it was able to get the spook on him. Its eyes and wide mouth gave off a sinister, untrustable demeanour. Multiple spikes covered its back. Its ears were large and pointed. Both its arms and legs had three short digits. Something was strange about it, however. Its dastardly aura surrounding it and its gold-tinted eyes cast a sense of instinctive fear upon Michael. Ghost creatures at their best, he assumed.

"You keep your mouth open like that and you'll end up with a mouthful of Bug types! Teh-heh-heh." It snickered and flew right up to Michael's face. Michael flinched.

"W-what do you need then?" Michael stuttered, trying not to sound fearful. In his pocket, he clasped his left hand around the Relic Leon had recovered that Summer. It was mechanical, like his arm instructed his brain to do it, not vice versa. Something related to warmth spread throughout his body. He could jump across buildings, he felt.

"Why to help you, of course. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.' I don't suppose you're too thick-skulled to not know what that means, right? Heh.

Geez, what a whackjob.

"I hate that purple fuzzball Espurr as much as you do. Don't ask, I've been around for longer than you think. Much longer."

"Espurr?" Michael asked. "That purple thing is called an Espurr?"

"Well, what do you think? We all have names, not just 'that yellow spikey thing, that golden-ringed thing, that other purple quadruped thing.' They call me Gengar. Though if you knew enough you'd know I've tapped into a little extra power. There's more to this Gengar than what meets the eye. See this?" It flew around a bit, the dark aura tailing behind him. His yellow eyes glinted at Michael in the dark. "Anyway, enough blabber. I have a message to relay."

"A message? And what's that, exactly?"

Gengar sighed sarcastically. "A message is a..."

Michael intervened, backing up further still. "Not what a message is. What is the message?"

The creature laughed and suddenly flew right up to his face again, licking its lips. "Oh what DELIGHT it is to feed off your fear! Your soul would make a great feast, INDEED!" Michael held his hands out in front of him, assuming a defensive posture.

"The message is for you to be careful. You're already in much, much further than you think. You reached the event horizon the second you were born, after all. Which is why..." Gengar backed up, finally, and flexed its arm muscles. "...you need a shadow Pokemon to catch a shadow Pokemon. Before they catch you, that is-"

"Wait."

"Hm?" For the first time, Gengar frowned and didn't laugh after it went silent.

"Say that again." All trepidation had withdrawn from his mind, and was replaced with a somewhat profound feeling.

"What? 'You're already in much, much further than you think'? Heh!"

"No!" Michael lunged at Gengar. "Pokemon."

"Pokemon? Well, that's what we're called. Congrats on passing first grade." Gengar kept its frown.

"I've heard that somewhere. A long time ago. Yeah, I remember. Something about 'Pokemon', or Pocket Monsters. Is that what this all is? You're really all Pokemon?"

The Pokemon nodded, evidently already fed up with answering questions he seemed to know everything about. It returned to its smile.

"There's something special about you, yes indeed there is. You're a Dark type hybrid and the way you welcome, yet reject your true self is... Astonishing. Teh-heh."

"What are you blabbering on about? I don't know over half of what you're saying."

"You're a HYBRID, my boy! That means you get the best of both worlds, you see?! Try not to fall behind my constant verbal bombardment!" Gengar seemed ever so slightly angry, though this time it held its conceited smirk.

"There's a name for everything, huh..." Michael was unsure about this "Pokémon". He still had a deer-in-headlights feeling. It was especially stronger whenever Gengar zoomed in on his face.

"You bet! Anyway, you won't last another day without my help!"

"And what does that mean? Got a bad future in my sights? Then the last thing I want is you to be around to make it happen." He lunged at Gengar again, though this time looking about ready to hurt him so bad that it could no longer smile.

"P-please don't do that! Heh, Dark types are strong against a Ghost type like me..." Gengar shrunk back in an effort to look innocent.

"Types?" Michael wondered aloud.

"Yeah, you know, types. All Pokémon have a type. Grass. Poison. Ghost. Fairy. Dark. There are a lot more. It's what classifies our strengths and weaknesses, teh."

He scratched his head and smiled sheepishly.

"...And that's exactly why you need my help! Things aren't gonna be very peaceful for long! If we don't act soon a full-scale invasion will be in our hands. Actually your hands, because if things turn south I'm outta here. Just like that!" Gengar let out with a playful snapping of its fingers.

Michael, unerringly enough, had no where else to turn. Not only that, but he was pretty sure that this Gengar would hurt him if he didn't abide to its wants. He wasn't much of the guy to pick a fight. Be the wiser man, he told himself. That old you is gone for good.

Only but a bolt of lightning would be enough to clue him in on how wrong he was.


End file.
